by Kristy Tate
She led them to the second story hallway. Doors and portraits lined the walls. Penelope stopped in front of a door and pushed it open. A cold wind welcomed them. A bed dominated the room. A wardrobe stood on the wall opposite the window and two small tables flanked the bed. Candlesticks stood on each table, but Penelope made no effort to light them.
“You may stay here, Sir Jason,” Penelope said before turning to Celia. “You will stay in the room next to mine. I suppose Mrs. Robinson will have a fit when she discovers two unannounced houseguests, but that will be part of the fun.”
In the shadowy moonlight, nothing about Jason’s face looked like he was having fun.
#
After depositing Jason, Penelope took Celia’s hand and led her to a room that looked like it had a peacock fetish: Peacocks on the wall paper, green and blue curtains and bedding, and a glass vase holding a collection of peacock feathers.
“If we undo each other’s buttons, then there will be no need to wake my maid,” Penelope told her.
“Oh, good plan,” Celia said.
Penelope laughed as if Celia had said something funny. Taking her shoulders, Penelope spun Celia and immediately got to work on her buttons.
“So, your brother…”
“My brother?” Celia asked before catching herself. “You mean Jason?”
“Have you other brothers?”
“I do, at home.”
“So, is Jason spoken for?”
“Huh, no. No, he’s not.” At least she didn’t think so.
Penelope unbuttoned the last tiny shell before coming to stand in front of Celia. It took Celia much longer to unbutton Penelope out of her dress, than it had taken Penelope to do hers.
“And I suppose Sir Jason enjoys men’s sports?” Penelope’s voice trailed away in a question.
“I suppose so,” Celia replied, not really knowing anything other than large burgers that Jason liked or disliked.
“Do you ride?” Penelope asked.
Ride? Horses? “No, not really, but I’ve always thought horses are beautiful.” And really big.
“Tomorrow we shall take the horses and a picnic lunch to the top of Briar Hill. It will be such a lark!”
“Penelope, it’s very kind of you to invite us to stay,” Celia said as she unbuttoned the last tiny button, “but you need to know that we can’t visit very long.” And there’s no chance in hell that I’m getting on a horse.
Penelope turned around with a small smile and took Celia’s hand. “But for right now, you are here. We don’t need to think about tomorrow or the day after that, we can enjoy today.” She kissed Celia on the cheek before turning toward the door.
“I’m just in the next room over in case you need anything.”
I need a lot of things, Celia thought, and in her mind she began to tick them off. Flushing toilet, toothbrush, paste and floss, a heater. Even after she was tucked in her bed, Celia still struggled to be warm. Her breath came out in puffs that tinged the air. The blanket seemed to weigh almost nothing, and couldn’t keep her warm. Her bed was probably made of feathers, because she sank into it, making her feel enveloped and trapped.
Part of her knew she should be grateful for this amazing opportunity to live in a different moment of history, but she was finding it way easier to engage the awfulizer than to practice gratitude.
Her door cracked open and Jason poked his head in. “Can I come in?”
She nodded.
He silently closed the door and came to her bed. Looking down at her, he said, “This is awkward.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Celia said. “I’m freezing, and you have to be cold. You could get in and keep me warm.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You’re just keeping me warm, nothing else.”
Jason nodded. “Nothing else. Got it.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he pulled off his boots and wiggled his toes.
He lifted the covers and slid beside her. “What are you wearing?”
Celia looked down at the white, shapeless thing that resembled a large pillow case. “I think it’s called a chemise.”
He pulled her close and draped an arm over her. “You know, if you had told her we were married instead of siblings, we wouldn’t need to be whispering right now.”
“Yeah, but it could be a lot more awkward.” She pressed her back against his chest and relaxed in his warmth. His shirt had an unwashed, earthy smell that she didn’t like or dislike. She did feel better with him beside her. After a moment, her shivering subsided.
“How are we going to get home?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, pulling her closer.
“You won’t go without me, right?”
“I wouldn’t choose to, but seeing how none of this was my choice in the first place…”
“That’s not really true, is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, this last time, you must have chosen to follow me.”
“I thought you were drowning,” he mumbled sleepily.
“So did I,” she said. “Jason, have you wondered if maybe we’ve died?”
He chuckled softly and she felt his laughter through their clothes. “You think this is our afterlife? Our eternal reward?”
“We’re not really resting in peace…”
“Go to sleep,” he said. “When we wake up, we’ll be home.”
“But what if we’re not?”
Jason didn’t answer. Celia listened to his breath turn slow and steady as he fell to sleep.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thanks for coming with me.”
#
The next morning Celia kept her eyes closed, afraid to open them. She listened for the familiar sounds of Becca showering, getting ready for work, ColdPlay singing on Pandora. Instead, she heard birds singing.
There are birds in Connecticut, she told herself. Reaching to the other side of the bed, she felt nothing but tousled sheets. She peeked open an eye. Weak sunlight poured through the window and landed on the wide planked wooden floor.
If she was still in a great manor house in England, where was Jason? He had stayed with her last night, so where was he now? Her heart sped as she considered all the possibilities—the worst being that he had returned to Connecticut and left her behind. Sitting up, she clutched the quilt to her chest and tried to plan out her next step.
At home, every day had a rhythm and routine. She woke at six, went running, showered and changed, went to the shop at eight, opened the shop at ten, spent the next eight hours manning the store and running errands for her mom and grandmother, until the evening when she fell back into bed. In the morning, the day started all over again.
She didn’t know what to do here.
The out of control feeling made her chest tight, and constricted her lungs. She tried to take deep, calming breaths, but the more she focused on her breathing, the crazier her thoughts became. She lay down and pulled the blanket over her head. Maybe she could just hide until she woke.
Outside her window, horse hooves clattered. With the sheets draped over her shoulder, she snuck to the window and peered out. Below her, Jason and Penelope sat on two enormous horses. Jason looked like he belonged there, and Penelope’s cheeks were pink and her hair windblown.
Are they coming, or going? Celia wondered. She also wanted to know the time, but a quick glance around the room reminded her that she wasn’t going to find any clocks. The sun in the sky told her nothing. For all she knew, it was one a.m. on a Sunday next to ages past, in the month of whenever, and in the year of kingdom come.
Jason tipped back his head and laughed. Penelope joined in, and their combined laughter floated up through the window. Jason’s gaze shifted her way, and Celia took a step back. She didn’t want him to see her and think she was spying on him.
She sat back down on the bed, feeling disgruntled, and thinking about the shop. She didn’t have time to play Elizabeth and Darcy at Pemberley. She began a mental to-do
list of all the tasks that needed her attention, but her thoughts floundered. What was the point in making a list, when there wasn’t one thing she could check off?
Running her tongue over her teeth, she longed for a toothbrush, a comb, and a warm shower. Not knowing what else to do, she looked around for her dress. Inside the one wardrobe, the only place it could hide, she found a lot of gowns—at least fifty. She ran her fingers through all the different materials—satin, gabardine, silk, crinoline, and lace—all hand-tied, intricate and beautiful. One by one she pulled them out, admiring each of them.
A scratch at the door. What could that be? A dog?
“Hello?” Celia said.
The door cracked open and a maid with a frilly cap stared at her. “Why hello, miss. Mistress Penelope said you could use my services.”
Celia motioned for the maid to come in.
The girl looked like she was no more than thirteen or fourteen. She had blonde hair tied up in a bun, and wore a blue dress, white apron, and sturdy shoes. Celia wondered how the girl would look in one of the many dresses from the wardrobe.
“My name is Kitty, miss.” She dropped into a small curtsey.
“Hi, Kitty.” Celia wasn’t sure what to do with her. “Have I missed breakfast?”
“Oh, no, miss. Breakfast isn’t for another hour.”
Okay. Now what? “Do you know what happened to my dress?”
Kitty nodded and her cap looked as if it might slide off. “Shall I bring it for you?”
“That would be great.”
Kitty bobbed another curtsey and hurried out the door.
Celia studied herself in the mirror, twirling her hair around her finger, wondering when she would get to shower. She hadn’t been wearing any makeup when she left Connecticut, so at least she didn’t have smeared mascara under her eyes.
Moments later, Kitty returned with the dress.
Celia reached for it, and Kitty stared at her. Celia stared back.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where are your undergarments, miss?”
Celia pointed at her bra and panties. “These are my undergarments.”
Kitty’s eyes and pursed lips told Celia that she didn’t believe her.
“This is what they wear for undergarments in the colonies,” Celia told her. “At least, this is what they wear where I’m from.”
“And where is that?” Kitty asked.
“Connecticut.”
“I have a cousin who went to Connecticut.”
“When was that?”
“Ages ago. Before the hostilities.”
Celia nodded, wanting to know more about the hostilities…and about everything else. But she really couldn’t come right and ask things that anyone else would know—like what year was it? Who was the King? What sort of things did they eat for breakfast?
Kitty, still looking skeptical about the lack of underwear, tossed the dress over Celia’s head and began dressing Celia as if she was a three year old…or a Barbie doll. Once the dress was buttoned up, Kitty pushed Celia into a chair and pulled a silver handled hairbrush from the wardrobe drawer.
“How long have you worked here?” Celia asked.
“Since I was wee thing, miss.”
“But what specific years?”
Kitty gave her a quizzical look in the mirror. “I started when I was in my eighth year.”
“And that was…”
“About the turn of the century.”
Celia did some quick math. If Kitty was now around twelve, that would make the year 1812. Celia tried to remember what she knew about the War of 1812. Would she and Jason be considered, or suspected of being spies?
“It’s hard to believe I’ve been here for seven years.”
Celia relaxed. The war was years away. She hoped she wouldn’t still be here when it broke out.
#
Thirty minutes later at the breakfast table, Jason whistled.
Penelope looked much less impressed.
“Wow, your hair,” Jason said. “Just wow.”
Celia touched it tentatively, afraid that if she moved too quickly it would all come tumbling down. Kitty might not be a brilliant conversationalist, but she was a hair wizard.
“And how does your sister generally wear her hair?” Penelope asked as she took a seat at the wide dining room table. She motioned for Jason to sit beside her. Celia chose a seat across from them.
“Usually she just pulls it back with a man’s necktie,” Jason said, settling down beside Penelope, unfolding his linen napkin onto his lap.
Penelope’s laugh trilled and echoed in the large room. When she noticed no one else was laughing, she stopped. “Surely, you jest.”
“Oh, he’s a jester,” Celia said. She unfolded her napkin, but once that small task was done, she didn’t know what to do next. She didn’t know where to put her hands. This was supposed to be breakfast—she was supposed to be eating—but she didn’t see any food.
Neither Jason nor Penelope looked concerned.
Celia usually skipped breakfast, and on the rare occasions that she did grab something to eat, it was usually a piece of toast and a cup of tea.
A woman dressed in white, and wearing an apron, pushed a cart laden with food into the room. She served Jason first, then wheeled her cart around the long table to serve Celia, before taking the remaining plate to Penelope.
Celia stared. Cheese on bread, brown beans, sliced tomatoes, slimy brownish-purple things in some sort of sauce. Celia used her fork to poke at one of the purple things. A plum, she decided. The maid filled her glass with thick, chunky milk. Celia felt sick. She couldn’t eat any of this. None of it could be FDA approved. The milk couldn’t be pasteurized. Who knew where the vegetables had come from? And she’d bet anything that no one had even washed their hands before they had made the bread…or the cheese. And forget about anti-bacterial soap—these people lathered up with what? Lard?
Jason obviously didn’t share her squeamishness. He bit into the bread, swallowed a slug of milk, and chit-chatted with Penelope about some local castle. Celia caught the words Merlin’s Cave.
“We have to go!” Jason said.
We have to go home, Celia thought, shaking her head at him from her side of the table.
“Excellent!” Penelope clapped her hands. “We shall pack a lunch and have an adventure!” She waved at the footman standing at the back of the room as still and lifeless as a statue. He sprang to life at Penelope’s bidding.
“Horace, please tell Marte that we request a packed lunch for this afternoon.”
“But—” Celia’s voice came out as a squeak and her fork froze above her plate
Jason, Penelope, and Horace looked at her with questions in their eyes. Celia’s thoughts scrambled. She would like to see Merlin’s Cave…or what was supposed to be Merlin’s Cave. Not that she believed in Merlin the Wizard, or in any of the Arthurian legends, for that matter. But then again, she didn’t believe in time-travel…or until recently she hadn’t believed in time-travel. But if time-travel was possible, and it must be because here she was in Regency England, then why not magic swords, dragon slaying knights, ladies in lakes, and the Easter Bunny?
Jason, Penelope and Horace were still looking at her. Celia’s glance fell out the window. “Do you think it might rain?”
Jason and Penelope both gave her disappointed looks.
Penelope placed her hand on Jason’s arm and gave him a warm smile. “I’m willing to face the elements if you are.” She turned her bright smile on Celia. “If you would be more comfortable here, you are welcome to stay. My uncle has a vast library, if you would enjoy a more leisurely pursuit.”
Celia felt her nostrils flare. Books could always tempt her, but she didn’t want to be left behind. She worried that Jason would disappear without her, and she’d be left alone. Funny, a few days ago, she wanted him to disappear, and now that was her greatest fear. “No, I would love to see Merlin’s Cave. I just…”
“Are you afraid of
a little drizzle?” Jason asked.
“I’m afraid that if we wait for perfect weather, we will end up waiting for a very long time,” Penelope said.
Jason nodded, speared a stewed plum with his fork, and looked happy.
#
They arranged to meet outside the stables in an hour, allowing time for the servants to prepare their box lunch, and Penelope a chance to catch up on her correspondence. Celia was curious about what, exactly, was Penelope’s correspondence, but she didn’t want to hang around the morning room to find out.
Celia went to find Jason. Ignoring the curious glances of the maids, she wandered through the manor house, past suits of armor standing like sentinels in the corners, and portraits of Penelope’s ancestors lining the halls. Tapestries spun with vibrant colored thread hung from the walls, and if she hadn’t been in such a rush to be home, she would have liked to study them. A whisper in her mind told her that the tapestries had stories to tell, but she couldn’t stop to look at them. She had to get home.
A man dressed in a formal black and white suit pushed open the great front door for her. She thanked him, and he nodded as solemnly as a mortician. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to be Penelope alone—but not alone in such a great, big house, surrounded by people who only nodded when you smiled, and jumped when you waved your hand. But she couldn’t think or worry about Penelope, when she had such an enormous problem of her own.
She finally found Jason in the stables. He still wore his highwayman clothes, with his black pants tucked into his knee-high boots, but he had lost the cape, and had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Using a short-stubble brush, he groomed a giant, black stallion. He hadn’t noticed her, and Celia watched.
Clouds filled the sky, but a few weak sunbeams broke through and poured through the window. Dust sparkled in the air. The horse stood still and seemed appreciative of Jason’s gentle brushing.
Because horses, especially giant ones, made her nervous, Celia stayed behind a chest-high wooden wall. Jason must have felt her gaze, because he turned in her direction.
“I want to go home.” Celia’s voice quivered. “I don’t have time for this.” She waved her arms around the stables. “I need to go home now.”